


what the Drift has wrought let no man tear asunder

by tielan



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: F/M, Friendship/Love, Gen, The Drift (Pacific Rim)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-29
Updated: 2013-07-29
Packaged: 2017-12-21 19:49:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/904196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tielan/pseuds/tielan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The world is wide and new, and there is a future when they thought there'd be none.</p>
            </blockquote>





	what the Drift has wrought let no man tear asunder

**Author's Note:**

> Why, yes, I have committed Pacific Rim fic. While still besieged by Avengers plotbunnies. There will be NO CROSSOVER. (Seriously.)

The _whop-whop-whop_ of blades overlays the echoes _sensei, aishitemasu_ in Mako’s head as the chopper carries them back to the Shatterdome. Wrapped in blankets, she and Raleigh sit shoulder-to-shoulder as the sun plays across their skin through the Sikorsky’s open doors.

His hand moves on the seat between them, and his little finger loops around hers, cold skin, yet hot.

She looks up into his face _and_ _the rest of our lives_ and his mouth curls at the corners.

The world is wide and new and there is a future when they thought there’d be none.

* * *

The day is full of celebrations and chatter.

There are the formal notifications, the interviews, the flood of congratulatory calls from people who scorned _Sensei_ ’s dedication.

News comes back from around the world – of fireworks and government holidays, of drunken street parties and weeping crowds, of the gathering togther of faiths in prayerful thanks, and the screaming outrage of the Church of the Breach.

And there is Raleigh. Always Raleigh.

They stand in the centre of it – in the midst of the noise and congratulations, celebrations and grief. They are never quiet, never silent, never alone.

Mako turns her head and catches Raleigh’s eye across the room.

_never alone_

It's a promise as powerful as the one Stacker made a traumatised child.

* * *

Around Mako, the Shatterdome is both jubilant and grieving – in less than a week they saved the world, but lost four Jaegers, three crews, and Marshal Stacker Pentecost.

_you are a brave brave girl and I am lucky to have watched you grow up_

In the early evening, just before dinner is served, when Raleigh is dragged away by Tendo to meet someone who just got off a chopper, Mako goes up to LOCCENT.

Max glances over at her as she enters but doesn’t move from his position, staring up at Herc, who just sits looking out at the chamber now empty of its Jaegers.

Her fingers clench about themselves for a moment, uncertainty clutching her breast. Then she moves with quiet steps to stand beside and behind him, and her hand closes hard over his shoulder. It is not her usual way, to touch. It is not his usual way, to accept more than the casual contacts of greeting.

But tonight his throat works as he reaches up and grips her hand with all the emotion it is not his way to show. Tonight, everything is different.

Nothing is said. They do not talk without meaning, and there are no words for what he’s lost.

Not only the world needs rebuilding.

* * *

Her bed is uncomfortable, the mattress lumpy. The sheets scratch at her skin – too hot when she pulls them over, too cold when she throws them off. Mako sits up, and drags her hands through her hair as her chest feels as though it might burst from the battering of her heart.

She drags on trousers and pulls on her boots but only tucks the laces in. Her door shuts with a clang, and his door opens with a creak. She sets foot on the stairs, and he steps back for her entry.

And then the door is closed and their hands are on each other, holding fast.

Mako knows it’s a Drift reaction – the physical component balancing out the mental and psychological compatibility – grounding pilots in the _here_ and _now,_ breaking the Drifting cycle of _there_ and _then_. But she can’t let go. She _can’t_ let go. If she lets go, she’ll fall into herself _anyone can fall_ and never come out.

He presses his cheek to her forehead, and his fingers tickle her hair as he cups her nape. Hard muscle tenses under her touch, and his breath comes short and sharp as he holds her – as though he, too, wrestled with sleep.

Time passes – minutes, months, an aeon.

He cradles her as though she’s fragile and precious; he grips her as though she’s unbreakable, his shelter. They breathe together until the ragged edges of need are blunted.

“Come to bed.” Raleigh’s voice is rusty, as though it’s been years since he spoke.

They go to sleep facing each other, their hands between them, touching. They wake spooned, their fingers intertwined.

**Author's Note:**

> There is plot and character development afoot, but alas no time. And the plotbunnies are invading from all sides so...we'll see whether I find the words to keep this story going.


End file.
